Chuck vs Ever After
by shetowstheline
Summary: Chuck and Sarah attempt to move forwards with their lives after the events of the final episode.
1. Chapter 1

**Chuck vs Ever After **

**Synopsis:  
**Chuck and Sarah attempt to move on with their lives after the events of the final episode.

* * *

**Chapter 1: **

Like many of Morgan's ideas, his latest is hampered by its short-sightedness. True love's kiss is great and all, but how do you get from there to happily ever after? Because as hopelessly tender and familiar as their kiss had been that day, it doesn't change a thing. The ocean between them only grows by the day, and the tides aren't likely to change in his favor any time soon.

Morgan has no answers for him and if all the countless hours of watching Disney with Clara has failed to enlighten on the subject, then Chuck doesn't stand a chance trying to figure things out alone in their empty apartment.

But how could his friend understand, when he already lives in the land of ever after?

His love for her has not wavered; he doesn't think he'll ever love anyone as deeply and completely as he loves her. No, it's not that. It's not that at all. What he fears is that the woman he loves, his wife, is lost to him forever.

It haunts him still. That moment on the train where he stood helpless and watched her disappear from sight. He should have done more; he should have fought harder. If he had known it would be their last moment together, he would have done more than just watch. Stand frozen. Scream silently.

For all the years she fought to keep him safe, his promises to return in kind have come to this.

He fought for them now, but it was too late. This Sarah didn't want him to fight; some days he wasn't sure if she wanted anything to do with him.

The ease with which everything had slipped through his fingers was so sudden and complete that he continued to function in a state of shock. He had been so close he could almost taste it. Everything; he almost had it all.

He couldn't even make his way through the first stage of grief. This was not denial but a nightmare. Almost every night he had a vision of opening his front door and a bloodied Sarah staggering into his arms. Only it's his Sarah, and everything is real—her memories, her words, her love for him. It's all real until he wakes, alone in their bed, to a different sort of reality.

The kind of reality where his Sarah never came home.

* * *

Sarah phones and asks him if he's free. She'd like to see him. Perhaps they could have coffee together—if he has the time for it.

Chuck would have laughed but the irony is lost on her.

Of course he does. Now that they are no longer risking their necks every week for the government averting death and disaster, he has more time than he knows what to do with.

They choose a neutral location, almost perfectly between her hotel and their apartment. Chuck makes sure to shave and put on something from the dresser. It's one thing to feel like a bag of excrement and another to look like one. He practices some lines in the mirror to make sure the sadness doesn't reach his eyes. His own grief is enough as is, the last thing he needs is to invite hers.

Before leaving home he looks over an old photo. He's put most of them away but every now and then he tortures himself with the reminder that she is no longer here. If he doesn't remind himself, he will forget.

Just like he's forgotten about all the walls he's had to break through to get to her or that she's wary and doesn't trust easily and has no idea who he is.

It was naïve of him to think he could tell her their story, start to finish, and it will suffice. As if she could have their stories if not the memories and they could be the way they used to be.

He wants so badly to believe that his love is enough for the both of them. He forgets that stories are just stories and that she isn't his Sarah. It's wrong for him to try and make her into anything else. He reminds himself of that before he goes.

The truth was that they had something some people spend their whole lives searching for. He was in love with an amazing woman and she had loved him in return.

It should be enough but he wants more. He wants a lifetime, forever and ever after.

So he keeps just one photo around to prevent himself from building dreams out of smokescreens.

* * *

He arrives early but she's already seated with a drink, staring off into distance. She doesn't see him yet and for a moment he's granted a reprieve from the stoic, impassive expression he's gotten so used to seeing.

He should be grateful. She makes an effort to see him every now and then, as if by telling their story he has bound her by a set of unspoken obligations to maintain appearances. When they do meet, she is always polite and never unkind. She's already given him more than he deserves.

He stares without meaning to and despite all earlier warnings, forgets for just a second that it's not Sarah sitting there, waiting for him. He has to fight with himself not to stumble over and break her reverie, to kiss her; tell her things he could never take back.

It's just—it _is_ her. Everything about her, every cell that makes her who she is, it's all there. He can't reason with himself that she's gone when he knows that. He can't give up on them when they were so close.

He walks up slowly, counting down to the moment when she disappears behind her walls. He can read her easily enough; she's lost and afraid and he wishes he could be there to help her pick up the pieces. She's angry and she has a right to be angry but Chuck doesn't know how to help her let go.

Perhaps it's more comfortable for her to stick with what she knows.

Suddenly the light enters her eyes and she stares directly at him, aware of his presence. A ghost of a smile graces her lips and then, with more conscious effort, it breaks into a reserved grin of sorts.

He returns it with an equally nervous smile.

"Hey," she says. Chuck notes the change in her posture, the sudden directness with which she looks at him. He knows better than to ask after her when she's on the defensive.

"Hey," he replies. He allows a silence to build between them, filled with all the things he's unable to express to her.

He has to be a stronger person than he is. He can't tell her how much he misses her, how much he worries every night when he's sleeping alone in their bed. He most certainly cannot tell her how he fears she'll regain her memory one day when he's no longer around. Knowing the loss, he would never wish it upon her.

Sarah has the sensitivity not to ask him how things are. Or perhaps Chuck is not hiding it well enough. He makes a conscious effort not to sag into the seat and let the weariness weigh him down. He tries to think of the things he's grateful for.

Sarah is alive and well. His friends and family are moving on with their lives. The world is a slightly safer place. Every bit counts, everything has to mean something or else what was the point of it all?

He starts to feel a little better and the tension eases.

He orders coffee; she gets a refill. They make small talk; agreeing that this cafe's nicer than the one closer to Sarah's hotel then both complain about the parking or lack thereof.

"You're keeping busy?" It's such a bland question but Chuck's not sure what else to say. He's not sure how to ask after someone when they've suffered something so traumatic.

Sarah nods unconvincingly. "Actually I'm thinking of going away for a little while." She avoids making eye contact with him which is just as well because Chuck is afraid he'll reveal too much of how he truly feels.

"Oh?" He refrains from asking the more important questions. He's not sure he has a right to know them anymore.

"I just…" She stops and looks to him for help but he doesn't say a word. He can't fill the words in for her; it would feel too much like sealing his own fate. Sarah fidgets with her bare hands, wringing them for answers. "I just need to get away. This city is too much for me right now."

For a second he sees a woman haunted by her past. It's all because of him. He can't bear to let her go and she can't seem to break free.

Chuck forgets he's staring until she looks away. He keeps forgetting and every sad, yearning look only pushes her further and further away.

"For a few days." He purposely says it as a statement, as if he could keep her close if he didn't invite any other possibilities.

Sarah doesn't respond.

_Forever? _

"I thought I should let you know." She is pensive and her eyes reflect a degree of uncertainty that doesn't seem to fit with her usual persona.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." When her expression doesn't change, he feels he needs to reinforce the point. "You don't owe me anything, Sarah, but thank you for telling me."

She smiles slowly. "I had the sense that you would be worried." She fidgets with her hands again, betraying emotions hidden just below the surface. "So please don't." Her smile is suddenly impinged by a streak of stubbornness.

Chuck smiles. Is she remembering or does he seem like the worrying type?

"Promise," he says. He will promise to worry a little less.

He half-wondered if that was the only reason she had invited him out but they don't speak on the subject further. She visibly relaxes and they spend the rest of the time talking about trifling things. She has him help her with some features of her phone, a device she refers to with equal parts awe and hatred. Traffic and the weather come up, good neutral topics up for discussion, though Chuck struggles to keep the conversation less than intimate when speaking to her. How do you treat your wife the same way you would a stranger?

She mentions an annoying jingle that's gotten stuck in her head the past week or so and when she hums it for him he recognizes it as the tune for a taco commercial. She's not even aware it's a memory but the jingle hasn't been on TV in years. It's strange what the mind can hold on to and what it will let go of.

Chuck doesn't say very much, a feat for a man so fond of nervous babbling. He's caught by with the way she speaks, the light in her eyes when she regales him with a funny story and the rare smile that she gives only when she's so deep in a recollection that she forgets who she's speaking to.

There are moments when it's so hard to remember how things can be so different when they feel exactly the same.

Finally they have to part ways. She has some packing to still left to do and he…well, Chuck will be fine. He walks her to her car and their conversation breaks down to single syllables and awkward smiles. They say their respective goodbyes but just as she's about to get in, she stops.

"Chuck." She turns around and her voice is suddenly so soft it's barely more than a whisper.

Chuck holds his breath, his heart hammering nervously. So there was more to this than just coffee. This is the part where she tells him she's leaving for good.

"I had this dream," she finally says. "We were on a train." Chuck is not prepared for the intensity of her gaze. "You showed me something." He doesn't have enough time to put on a mask of indifference. Suddenly all his grief is there for show.

She takes it all in, but still she continues. "I told you it wasn't something I would ever forget."

Sarah smiles but it's bittersweet, caught somewhere between a crumbling mask of happiness and a sorry attempt to suppress the onslaught of tears.

Chuck has no words. The lump in his throat makes it difficult to breathe much less speak and it seems his silence already speaks volumes.

"I didn't think it was a dream," she says.

He's done this too many times; opening his heart and letting his hopes rise only to be crushed. How does he begin to explain the depths of their hopes and dreams when all she'll see is a tattered sheet ripped from a magazine?

She needed his help to remember, everyone agreed, but no one thought maybe he'd need just as much help to forget.

"It was a picture." His mouth has gotten so dry he feels like he can barely speak. He doesn't tell her the hours he's spent staring at that page, imagining her beside him, her skin flush with heat against his.

He doesn't tell her it was the last time they were happy.

"Of us?" Her eyes fail to register any glimmer of remembrance. There is only guilt and regret.

"Maybe when you're back I can show it to you."

She doesn't need to see it now. Not when she's about to leave. He's learned not to hang in hope.

Sarah nods her head. "I'd like that." She turns around and opens her car door. "Goodbye, Chuck."

Chuck holds his breath, using the last of his resolve to put on a brave face. "Goodbye, Sarah," he says.

He tells himself it's not truly goodbye, that she'll come back.

He'll see her again. He's sure of it. Maybe not in a week, maybe not in a year, but he will be waiting.

Chuck has, after all, all the time in the world now to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all the lovely feedback. I had a feeling this idea of mine would create some polarized opinions. Honestly the final episode left me so incomplete that I couldn't shake the idea of something after. This is more for my own catharsis than anything else and if this is not the ending you've imagined for Chuck/Sarah, then by all means, please do not upset yourself further by reading on. **

**That said, this really cannot be on the same caliber of angst as my previous works and is not written with such a design in mind. **

**Thank you for your time. And now, onwards...**

**Chapter 2: **

Sarah knows a thing or two about keeping appearances. She may have lost part of mind but she isn't blind; she sees the way he looks at her. Her training spares her nothing. He is every bit as haunted by the past as she is.

Every night the scene unfolds with her tied to a chair in that empty house.

_This is real? You really love me? _

It was a challenge, a matter of pride. She had carried out her assignment dutifully but in this game of lies two must play. Only she failed to realize the entirety of the wager.

Even if it was a complete lie, he still loved her.

Only when she wakes does the real nightmare sets in. The things that were said and done are no figments of her imagination. There are no take-backs.

She would have killed him and he would have let her.

They don't speak of it of course. They talk about the safe things in life. Things they aren't emotionally attached to like the weather, traffic and coffee. But no matter how hard she tries, she cannot make amends. He loved her, with all his heart; everything he had given her had been real and she had reciprocated with lies.

* * *

Everyday Sarah fights a losing battle and it's only a matter of time before the dichotomy drives her to madness. There's the Sarah she knows how to be in the face of the Sarah everyone else is telling her to be.

She can't find proof of her own identity, only that of another. The slight paleness in the shape of a band around her ring finger. The photographs of a happy couple in a stranger's home. The messages in her phone addressed to her but written for someone else.

She's angry. She can't help herself; she's vengeful and hurt. Quinn's death was satisfying for all of ten seconds before she realized that with him gone, so too were her memories or any chance that she could ever be the person she had been for the last five years.

With Quinn gone, Sarah was suddenly out of people to blame. There is only herself and she accepts that because to let it go would mean she would have nothing. Nothing at all.

The truth was that Sarah had done everything on her own volition. Quinn may have fed her the lies but she chose to believe him over her own husband. Chuck had tried to prove it to her, he had tried to tell her the truth, but she chose not to listen.

Was it really so hard to believe a person like her could find love and happiness?

She felt something on the beach that day; that much was undeniable. But one kiss was not enough to undo all the wrong between them. He loved someone infinitely more than she could understand; their strife, their struggles, their stories. It was all for someone else.

How could he ever feel the same way for someone who has betrayed him the way she has?

She couldn't stay. She had to leave.

She asks him to coffee to break the news. Dreading it as she was, she imagined how worried he would be if she left without a word. She owed him that. She owed him so much more.

Chuck doesn't argue with her. He doesn't plead or beg or any number of things she feared he would.

He let her go.

Because he loved her.

The ghost of the person she once was.

Everytime she thinks about it, she feels her heart break a little. Five years and the only person still by her side is someone she doesn't know.

* * *

Sarah flies out to D.C. and checks herself into a no-name hotel. She has no idea what she's doing but the most important thing is that she is no longer in L.A. She thinks she can breathe a little easier here without the cloying smog in her face but she's in denial. There is no escaping.

When Chuck restored her phone, he had inadvertently given her the exact, intimate details of the life they had once shared. Photos, messages, emails, dates; everything. She felt like she was looking into things she had no right to be.

She stopped soon after. Every message and photograph left more questions than answers and the only person she could ask was Chuck. She couldn't do that to him. She couldn't involve him deeper in the mess for which she was nearly all to blame.

She wished she could do more for him but she couldn't. She couldn't love him the way his Sarah had. The best and worst thing she could have done was leave it all behind.

She deadbolts the door, shuts all the lights and turns off her phone. She leaves her suitcase unpacked against the wall and starts undressing. She doesn't give herself a chance to think about what she's doing because she knows that what she's doing is crazy.

When she imagined herself five years in the future, she did not think she'd wake one day to be all alone in a hotel room, buried under the covers, watching infomercials at two in the morning.

As the TV announcer's voice fades to distant static, her thoughts begin to drift.

She thinks about their home; about the existence of a place where she didn't have to live out of a suitcase. She thinks about her wedding ring and all the promises bound to it and how she was going to return it to Chuck that day at the café only to change her mind at the last second because she couldn't bear to see what it would do to him.

She thinks about the man she's agreed to spend the rest of her life with and how the his Sarah must have loved him. How they must have loved each other. How he must love her now.

She had all that but she had to leave. And now she's back in the city she used to know so well. She's back to the beginning.

She just never imagined she'd feel this alone.

* * *

She wakes up early to visit the war memorial. There are a few runners but they don't linger by the monument and she sits alone in the middle of the expansive park, imagining herself saying goodbye to Bryce. It didn't feel quite right to say that he was gone; impossible really, when the memory of him was still so fresh in her mind.

There should still be pictures of him on her phone. She had taken them hastily before they had to part ways. The fact is she has other photos now and none of him.

It's not difficult to say goodbye.

She had liked Bryce. She couldn't go so far as to say she had loved him; the word didn't feel quite right. Bryce was nice enough and he suited her circumstances at the time, she wasn't looking for someone who would linger and she was never the lingering type herself.

She's tempted to check-in with Chuck. She wants to know what he's up to and oftentimes his silence and monosyllabic responses only leave her with more questions. What does he do in his spare time? Was he okay?

_Of course he's not okay._ But there's nothing she can do about it.

She changes her mind and puts the phone back in her pocket. It's not that she doesn't want to speak to him, the thought of hearing his voice is oddly reassuring, but he has a life to live too. She's not the only person trying to move on.

* * *

She receives a call from General Beckman who is in D.C. herself. Never mind how the General knows her whereabouts; they arrange to meet somewhere familiar to them both, a park in a busy part of the city. It's a nice day and there are plenty of people who share her opinion. There's hardly a patch of grass not monopolized by the office worker on his lunchbreak or the college student looking to kill some time before class. Sarah can't help but envy them; there's no denying the fact she's considered dropping everything and assuming a new identity in a new place.

When she finds Beckman, she's greeted with all the courtesies of a colleague she's known for years. It's off-putting but something Sarah's grown accustomed to. She feigns a sense of familiarity but she's grasping for straws.

"I hope you have been well," Beckman says. Even as they walk, Sarah finds the proximity a bit much. It unnerved her to see her superior dressed in civilian garb and speaking to her as if they were old friends.

"I have." She was not physically ill if that was any reprieve. If only she were, then maybe there would be some hope of recovery.

"And Chuck? How is he?"

Sarah shrugs only to realize it's a callus response. "I think he's well," she forces herself to say. "I saw him just the other day." It's only when she tries to elaborate that her words fall flat. She doesn't know. She's been too afraid to ask so she just hopes that he is.

In her own well-meaning way, Beckman tries to brief Sarah. But these aren't mission details; these are details about her life. Things she should know but doesn't. Beckman mentions something about an independent company Chuck was working towards creating before this all happened, about the Intersect and how they're not sure they can recreate another without his help, about imprinting and neuroimaging—

Sarah's too numb to focus. She tunes out without meaning to. It's just, she hates that everyone knows more about her personal life than she does.

It's more than she can take.

"I've been thinking about your offer." Her words have the intended effect.

Beckman stops in her tracks. There is suddenly silence. "Oh?" It's about as much as she's able to utter amidst the surprise and confusion.

Sarah had a feeling it hadn't been Beckman's doing. Didn't she want to take on a lesser role and prepare for retirement? _See?_ Sarah was capable of remembering details she's read about. It's not the facts that make living out of the past difficult; it's the emotions to go with them.

"It's certainly very fair," she says. More than fair, really. She's been offered a field position in any number of countries with a compensation package deserving for someone with her years of experience. There is no mention of her recent brain trauma and assuming she passes all the usual tests, it will be as if it never happened.

They begin to walk again but the announcement has created a ripple of discord. The slight distance between them, the coolness in her voice; the details are miniscule but to Sarah they are just reiterations of her impossible role.

"Have you made your decision then?" Perhaps if she knew Beckman better she'd feel the same disappointment she hears but she doesn't. She doesn't feel anything.

"I have." Sarah says it mostly for her own sake. Her conviction isn't nearly as strong as she'd like Beckman to believe. She has to say it aloud to remind herself that this is everything she's ever wanted. Everything she's been working towards.

* * *

Chuck picks up after the first ring. "Sarah?" He sounds surprised.

"Is this a bad time?" Sarah sits down on the freshly made bed. She's lingered outside for as long as she can but it's dark now and people who have places to be are not out wandering alone at this hour. Walking down the street was actually more depressing than she remembered.

"I can call you later if you're busy. I don't have much going on here." She eyes the half-eaten carton of take-out on the nightstand.

"No! No, it's not a bad time." His voice is reassuring as always but the inherent awkwardness of their conversations stay with her. She'll never wonder again what it's like to talk to someone who knows her better than she knows herself.

"It's just; I wasn't expecting a phone call from you." Before she can explain, he's already caught up with himself. "Not that I don't want to speak to you, but it's just, I thought you would be busy and the time difference, I thought you would be asleep, but I'm so glad you called—"

Sarah eyes the alarm clock, not realizing the hour. She shouldn't have called. She's probably keeping him up.

"You know maybe this isn't a good time," she says. Now they're both backpedaling.

It takes some more rambling on his part to persuade her that she should stay on the line. Even though the thought of calling him fills her with trepidation, he always manages to convince her that it's the right thing to do.

"So where are you now?"

She tells him and he sounds surprised. She half wonders where she should have gone. Of course she doesn't ask. They don't speak of ghosts.

She tells him about her dingy hotel, about how lovely the sky looks when there isn't so much smog, about the park and all the people enjoying a picnic and she's about to tell him about her meeting with Beckman when she realizes what she's done.

First there's panic and then the sudden surge of adrenaline that renders her speechless.

"Sarah?"

She can't speak. It's finally set in; long after her goodbyes to the general and her reevaluation with the agency. Long after she's told Beckman that this was what she's always been working towards and assuring the psychologist she won't miss it here if she has to work abroad.

It finally hits her.

"Sarah, what's happening? Are you okay?"

The voice on the other end grows increasingly panicked but Sarah can't find the words to comfort him. Not when she feels incapable of consoling herself.

All those questions. All those assurances Sarah's had to give.

It was never about her career. It was never about D.C..

It was about Chuck. Everything had been about Chuck and somehow, she had forgotten. She had forgotten about her husband and the life she had back in L.A.

"Chuck, it's late. I'm sorry. I have to go." She doesn't mean to be so curt but she can't speak another word to him. He's half a world away but she can already anticipate the crushing disappointment.

Sarah curls up under stale bed sheets and cries to herself. She can't remember. She can't remember any of it but she feels like she's betrayed him all the same.

She wants to call him back and apologize but then she'd have to explain herself. And even though she somehow knows he would encourage her to follow her heart, she can't say the words. She knows; he'd never hold her back.

So why then, did she feel like her heart was telling her not to go?


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Thank you for your comments and your patience. I think some readers may have misinterpreted a passage from the last chapter involving Sarah & General Beckman._**

_"It's more than she can take._

_"I've been thinking about your offer." Her words have the intended effect._

_**General Beckman was not the one who made the initial offer to Sarah but she brought it up because she was tired of Beckman bringing up the past and she wanted to say something to get her to stop.**_

_**The quote**__ : "Sarah had a feeling it hadn't been Beckman's doing. Didn't she want to take on a lesser role and prepare for retirement?" __**was meant to hint at the general's reduced role in the agency. **_

_**Hope that redeems the general in some of your eyes. Otherwise, thank you for your continued support.**_

* * *

Chapter 3:

She spends a few more days in D.C. completing questionnaires and examinations. She meets Beckman's stand-in and is pleasantly surprised to find that she has no opinion of the man. His name is Barnes; he is pleasant and direct but she would never make the mistake of making him a familiar. He will suit her purposes just fine.

It is better this way. And it is better that he knows only what's documented in her file; it's a relief that she doesn't have to face a barrage of questions aimed to guilt her into returning to L.A.. She does not have an opportunity to speak to Beckman again and for that she is sorry; the woman was probably fond of her and she should not strive to push away the people in her life simply because she doesn't remember them.

After all is said and done they wait on Sarah's final answer but rather than name her destination of choice, she makes the impulsive decision to fly out to meet an old friend. She regrets the decision soon after. The flight leaves her with too much time and too many thoughts; she sleeps fitfully and worries whether she should have told Chuck where she was headed.

It's not uncommon for them to go days—weeks—without speaking. He's never far from her thoughts but putting such thoughts to action is plagued by the inherent awkwardness of trying to carry on a normal conversation when nothing about what's happened is normal.

It's easier this way. There's no misunderstandings for her to regret when there is nothing at all.

* * *

She lands in Rome, a city she has been countless times before, and finds her way to the hotel without issue. Her recall is flawless and it is so terribly unfair. How can she be so sure that _Via Cavour _will be a surer bet than _Via Labicana _at this hour and falter when asked for a detail from her own wedding?

She nearly cries at the sight of a familiar face at the door and it must show because for once there's no snark exchanged at the threshold. Carina ushers her in and gives her a firm but gentle hug. There are no arguments, no fights; instead of 'hello' Carina's first words are "I'm so sorry about what happened."

Sarah drops her bags and takes a seat on the bed. "So you know?" She had been scant on the details when she asked Carina if she could visit.

"I heard you had gone missing." Carina looks at her with uncertainty, as if she isn't quite sure if Sarah is who she says she is. Hell, Sarah doesn't know who she is anymore.

"The next time I checked in with Chuck, it was complicated." Carina isn't usually one for euphemisms but Sarah can tell she is trying to give her a way to open up.

"Let's not talk about it." She wants to but she doesn't think she can understand her own misery much less explain it to someone.

Sarah closes her eyes. She needs a distraction. "Tell me what's new with you."

Seeing Carina is reassuring in many ways. She's a reminder that things haven't really changed all that much in five years' time. When her friend tries to bring her up to speed she delivers it in a style of nonchalance that makes it impossible to tell whether she's referring to things that have happened five years ago, or two days ago. It's all the same and it's so wonderfully familiar.

Drug lords, arms cartels…it's so achingly familiar. She can handle that.

She can handle the subdued version of Carina. It's almost a bit nice to have a friend who doesn't pry or push buttons. When she offers her a drink it's bottled water of all things.

What she cannot handle is the look Carina gives her. Because even though her friend has not changed, Sarah has. She's just not fully aware of it.

"Please don't look at me like that." Beckman looked at her the same way. "I don't want your pity."

"It's not pity," Carina says. All the same, those ice blue eyes bore into hers. "It's just tragic."

Sarah almost wishes it had just been pity. She's used to people feeling sorry for her; poor little girl with the dishonest daddy and the broken family. She's not sure what to do when someone's grieving because she can't.

Carina tells her about the bachelorette party and the wedding but it sounds like someone else's life. People like her did not spend the time imagining things so out of the realm of possibility.

She can't imagine a life without secrets or lies or aliases. The life Carina describes is not exciting or dangerous; they're not the kind of things she's entertained, much less hoped for.

And yet it was so wildly impossible that it had to be true.

Carina tries to tell Sarah about her own wedding. How happy she had been, how in love they were. "Almost nauseating—" is how she describes it.

_Impossible. _

_Impossible._

Sarah chants the word over and over again in her mind but how can she deny what Chuck's tried to show her all this time?

"You were all for the house with the white picket fence and happily ever after. You were going to give it all up for him."

The words invoke a certain set of imagery but all Sarah feels is emptiness. She can see it; there are memories but they are not hers.

Suddenly she can't breathe and the air is just as scant half a world away as it was when she was with him. He takes her breath away and she's left hollow; there is a part of her that's left forever and she can't change that. But what she does in that person's place is her own doing and it's wrong.

The person before her had spent years building a future and here she was, tearing it all down.

"Did I love him?"

She doesn't need Carina to speak. Her eyes say it all; they pierce her with their frankness.

_How can there be any doubt?_

* * *

She tries to enjoy her time in Rome-to forget the past and find herself again-but she can't. Every time she closes her eyes she sees herself back at that house with him. She thinks about how she almost killed him and wonders what she would do with herself if she had.

In the half-second after Quinn confessed to his crimes and before Chuck took the bullet for her, there was a moment of clarity.

A single moment of truth; a feeling that she belonged with him. That he loved her and she loved him.

And then horror crashed down upon her.

Chuck on the floor.

Quinn gone.

Panic.

Hysteria.

And running away, knowing she had to leave him behind.

And here she was, still running, even though she knows the feelings are still there.

Somewhere, deep down, she loved Chuck Bartowski.

* * *

Carina takes her to an opera and then afterwards for a late night snack of espresso and triple chocolate cake at her favorite café. She insists she's gotten too old to carry on like the days of yore but judging by Carina's hidden stash of contraband back at the hotel Sarah would say she's just trying to be a good friend.

It's almost like old times; a lifetime ago when they were fun and fancy free. When there were no consequences or responsibilities and everything was for the moment.

Carina polishes off her plate and starts encroaching on hers. Sarah simply sets her fork down on the mostly uneaten cake. She doesn't have the heart. She sees what Carina is trying to do for her but she can't stay here and pretend like she doesn't have another life an ocean away.

She can't return either. So where does that leave her?

"What do you think of St. Tropez this time of year?" Carina asks her with an air of nonchalance. Sarah ghosts a smile. "It would be so nice, don't you think?"

"I think it's time to move on," she replies. She doesn't elaborate further and Carina throws her another one of her looks. It always starts as a pointed stare, disapproval that quickly softens into a pensive sadness. Carina's learned quickly to spare her any pitying remarks but her face is far too expressive to hide how she truly feels.

Sarah stares off through the window into the distance. People are running outside; for what reason she cannot surmise. She can't think of anything important enough to run for. The breeze picks up and causes the door once held ajar to swing shut. There's shouting outside but her attention is piqued only when it fades to muffled cries.

"What's going on?" she asks aloud.

Carina shrugs, instead focusing on the meticulous task of licking her fork clean. "Someone's offended by something. Don't worry; it happens all the time here."

Sarah isn't altogether convinced but she isn't invested enough in the affairs of others to care. It's only—

"I thought I saw Chuck."

Despite all of Carina's talents, she's always had a shabby poker face. "What?" She drops the fork and it clatters noisily against the plate.

"It's too late. They're gone now," Sarah says, looking away and back down into her cup. It takes all her training to maintain an air of nonchalance. "And besides, I'm probably just seeing things. There are a lot of people who look like Chuck from the back."

Carina says nothing but her eyes confirm what Sarah already knows.

She sounds insane and what's more insane is that she's convinced it was him. Sure lanky men with brown half-curls are a dime a dozen here but when she saw him run past the window, she felt something.

_A connection?_ No, too strong a word. _A tug then_. As if her heart were wrapped in wire and someone had just plucked a chord across her chest. It's the same feeling she had when she last saw him; when they stood together and said their goodbyes.

Why would Chuck be here in Rome? He couldn't have followed her here; she hasn't contacted him since D.C.. Was he looking for her? Was he worried?

Carina scrapes her chair against the floor as she stands up, causing Sarah to break from her morbid thoughts.

"It's getting late."

"Yes." Sarah nods in agreement. "I think it's time I went home."


	4. Chapter 4

Many apologies for the delay. I had every intention of finishing this fic but I got side-tracked trying to sort out the plot bunnies of which there were many. For those still reading, I am glad to say that they have been cleared; I have the outline for the whole story mapped and updates will be more regular from here on out.

Many thanks to the great **mxpw** for stepping up to the plate and helping me out yet again. I am truly grateful for all your support and your approval means a lot to me.

* * *

**Chapter 4: **

Sarah disappears from his life a second time. Apart from a phone call from D.C. he has no idea where she is, who she may be with or how she is faring. Of course he shouldn't worry, she is if nothing else, a survivor. She will get along just fine without him.

Sadly the same cannot be said for himself. Chuck tries his hand at reintegrating himself to the normal life whilst Castle collects cobwebs underground. Money is no longer an object; they've compensated him for his efforts and well, now that he no longer has a house or future to save up for, he doesn't see the need.

Every now and then Morgan persuades him to pick up the pieces of what was once Carmichael Industries. He toys with the idea of being a contract computer specialist but it's half-hearted. Everything he's planned includes her, and he has no idea where the other half of his heart has gone.

Sarah wouldn't want this for him; he knows. Even the Sarah that exists now wouldn't want this for him. But the selfish, self-destructive part of him wants to know why he should endeavor to fulfill someone else's wishes when they are no longer here to care. The simple fact is, he doesn't want to move on. He doesn't want to stop moping, accept his losses and continue as half a person. Accepting that Sarah was gone, that his wife never came back, was not a reality he wanted to live in.

* * *

Beckman pays him an unexpected visit—unexpected and a bit rude since Chuck doesn't have enough warning to clear the rolls of old newspapers from the foyer, toss out the myriad of take-out containers on the kitchen counter and in general, make himself and the place presentable. She's forced him to come to terms with how things are and he resents her for it.

He's unwilling to admit that he's been expecting her but that's exactly it. Her appearance at his door was only a matter of time. Since Sarah's absence he's been drawing up endless possibilities of scenarios that would keep her away from Los Angeles. Some were a stretch at best, others were ideas borne out of jealousy, grief and regret. In the end, what rational bearings he had remaining wrestled from the maniacal thoughts of a man in despair what could only be the truth.

He already knows what Beckman has come to say; still he doesn't want to hear it.

"Come in," he says. There is a small part of him that will be glad to finally put these thoughts to rest. At last, he will hear it from the source.

Chuck feels it would be too repetitive at this point to offer an apology for the state of his home so he quietly takes a seat opposite her on the armchair and wallows in his own shame.

Beckman says not a word. Her expression is perfectly neutral; she maintains an air of professionalism even when she seats herself down on the crumb-infested couch.

"Would you like some water?" He asks out of politeness but he doubts he has any clean glasses left to offer her.

"No, thank you." Beckman flexes her knuckles discretely in her lap and Chuck takes it as a sign he should brace himself. "I don't think I will be too long." She looks at him with a weary gaze, like someone who has seen and done enough for the rest of her days.

"So." He takes a deep breath. "What's happened?" He's not a fool. Beckman doesn't make social calls; even if she's preparing for her retirement and handing her responsibilities to someone else, it doesn't turn her into a sentimentalist overnight.

"I saw Sarah while I was in D.C.." She pauses for effect but soon realizes it's lack thereof. "But you already know that. Did she tell you why she was there?"

Chuck shakes his head. He doesn't want to voice his theories and give them more life than they deserve.

"They've extended an offer to her." Beckman pauses, letting the moment sink in for him. "While I was in D.C. she was interviewed by the man who will replace me. I believe you've met him already yourself."

Chuck stares down at his hands. The news shouldn't affect him as much as it does. He still wears his wedding band but he's well aware that Sarah does not. She doesn't owe him anything.

"I wanted to be the one to tell you, because—"

"They didn't think I would believe it otherwise." Chuck avoids her gaze because he doesn't want to see what could be there. Pity (there's always pity) and worse—the truth. That Sarah's made a decision to move on without him. Despite all his efforts he has failed them.

"I know what they have offered you, Chuck, but you don't have to accept."

_Ah._ But that is where she is wrong.

Chuck smiles wryly at that. "Careful, General, or I may accuse you of having a heart." He's being unfair to her, it has nothing to do with her at all, but she lets him. What does she care? It's not her grief or her guilt to bear.

"You don't have to accept the offer," Beckman repeats. "That's all I'm saying."

Chuck nods but the matter was decided long before Sarah walked away and Beckman came to be here. It was a matter of principle. She was his wife, his better-half and he had taken vows. That aside, even the most detached and cynical part of his mind would agree that he owed her a debt. For all the years she stood by his side, he owed her this at least.

He's failed her once before; he can't a second time.

* * *

What frightens Chuck the most is not how he's integrated himself back into the life he thought to put behind but rather the ease with which it happens. It returns to him, seemingly overnight, the sense of purpose, the lies—the other life.

Charles Carmichael is handsome, rich and confident. He does not live alone in a tiny apartment in the suburbs sustained on a diet of take-out. He does not make excuses to avoid watching episodes of _Downton Abbey_ seated between his best friend and his best friend's girlfriend. He most certainly does not hang in the hopes that a wife who's left him will return.

He has a team and everyone is pleasant. He doesn't try to form any form of relationship extending beyond the roles of their mission which is as it should be. Ellie did say she wanted him to get out more and talk to people, didn't she?

It helps Chuck forget, for a little while at least, the reality that he must inevitably return to. Living as Charles Carmichael will not make home any less empty but he is no longer always home. It's a reprieve.

The job is little else than a distraction. Sure they make every attempt to fluff his ego by telling him what an important role he plays in their organization but he is not doing it for them. Sometimes he thinks they forget that slight detail.

He still thinks of her; even times when he should be thinking of other things like how best to navigate the skeleton of an elevator shaft or leap off a hotel balcony into the bushes, his mind always wanders back to her.

They won't tell him much, which is fair; he has no right to pry. He hears things though, not much but enough to know that she's safe, wherever she is. He doesn't try to find out more, it is enough that one day when she needs him he can be there for her. He tells himself so, because he can't expect anything more.

Only he could see running for his life down the cobbled streets of old Rome as an alternative to wallowing in despair. But it doesn't matter how fast he runs because eventually reality catches up to him. Eventually he returns home and then it's Bartowski, not Carmichael, who tries to come to terms with his new life filled with the same old secrets and lies. And it's Bartowski who holds onto a faded drawing on a torn page of a magazine and remembers all that could have been and could still be.

* * *

He returns home from his first mission and barely has time to get past the door when she calls. It's so sudden and unexpected that he stares at the phone filled with indecision and almost misses the call altogether. Even on missions he leaves it on just in case but she's never so much as left a text.

He is ecstatic, he is panicked, he is afraid. He is all things but he doesn't let on.

"Hello?" His voice is steady but his legs are not. He sinks down onto the couch so he doesn't fall over. A part of him isn't completely sure this is not a dream.

The truth is he's been waiting to hear from her again since Beckman's unexpected visit but he's taught himself to expect nothing. He doesn't think he can take the disappointment. Not when she may have gone under cover, assumed a different identity and become a stranger forever.

Of course he knows it's not the case, at least not yet. Even though Sarah hasn't been keen on speaking to him, Carina has. Mostly he thinks she called to give him some peace of mind, but it's the things Carina doesn't say that worry him the most.

"Chuck?" Her voice is achingly familiar but there is no hiding the distance. Even the way she says his name is formal, like she's only said it a handful of times. "Um…have I caught you at a bad time?"

"No! No, not at all, I've got—" Chuck stops before he starts babbling. He clears his throat. "I've got time." He has nothing but time. "Is everything alright?"

He wonders if it's a mistake to have left Rome so soon after the end of the mission. What if she needed him, what then? He'd come close to seeing her, Carina offered to help, but in the end he knew she'd left because of him. It just didn't feel right to intrude, no matter what Carina had said.

"Everything's fine. Why?" She sounds perplexed. "Is everything alright with you?"

"Of course!" In his panic he sounds more enthused than he intends and the silence on the other end doesn't help the conversation along either.

"Um, so how were things? What have you been up to?" Chuck tries to sound casual but he's already tensing in anticipation of her response. He wants to ask where she's been but then he wonders if he has a right to ask. He can't help the not knowing when she's not by his side but if she were to turn around and ask him the same question; he would be forced to lie.

"I had to take care of some things." She doesn't elaborate and he doesn't see fit to ask further. There's a long pause on the other line. The static starts to claw at his ears until she starts again. "I'm thinking of coming back to L.A. in the next day or two. Could we meet?"

Chuck's fears are only slightly outpaced by his eagerness. "Of course."

Of course he doesn't realize what he's agreeing to. Perhaps she wants to see him because she misses him and wants to be with him—but there are a dozen more likely possibilities. She's probably going to do the courteous thing and break the news Beckman's already delivered.

"Uh…so I'll call you when I'm back?"

He almost haphazardly blurts out a number of things he has on his mind but they are meaningless to a woman with no recollection of her husband.

_I love you. _

_I miss you._

Thankfully his reflex is to hold his tongue; more is said with less. He mumbles a short answer and their conversation ends as abruptly as it began. In hindsight he wishes he'd been more engaging; how many times has he hoped she'd call just so he could hear her voice?

But how do you hold onto someone who doesn't want to be held back?

It doesn't matter now, anyway. He has to believe there is more to Sarah's return than goodbye.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: **

The flight back to D.C. is not so terrible. Troubling thoughts come to mind—a perfect mix of things that were and still are, but the realization that she's finally going home has a strangely calming effect. The nightmares are not as vivid as they usually are; she sleeps more soundly in the rigid seat than she has in any five-star hotel bed.

It begins on the flight from D.C. to L.A.. She can't settle—doesn't even try—she's unraveling with every minute that brings her closer to home. Her mind plays over and over again her last conversation with Chuck. Like every conversation they have it's fraught with nuances that she can't pick up on; what was he really asking when he wanted to know if she was alright and what did he mean to say in the long silence before he bid her goodbye?

She hadn't really understood what brought her to Rome but once there, she expected to find the peace of mind that she couldn't when she was near him. It never really happened. She had her space; Carina didn't pry and Chuck never phoned. She pretended for some time that five years hadn't passed her by, that the nightmares were just byproducts of her imagination and she was a woman without a past. But there was space and then there was the infinite emptiness, the days that stretched onwards with no purpose or hope of an end. And it was the latter that made Sarah realize that while she didn't belong in L.A., she didn't belong anywhere else either.

And now she's back in the city she calls home. She was that much closer to Chuck.

As soon as Sarah steps off the plane, she wonders if she's made a mistake not having taken something for her nerves. Carina even joked she'd give her an elephant sized Valium to help her cope but out of pride she had decided to take the high road.

Now she was wondering whether her pride was worth the sickening, gut churning reaction she was having. And she hasn't even left the airport yet.

On shaky legs she walks over to collect her luggage and wonders if she should phone him now or wait until later tonight. It's not like he's a complete stranger, it makes no sense why she should be so nervous.

But she is.

She feels like a teenager waiting for her first date to phone and the experience had been horrifying enough the first time around. There was no need to relive something like that.

Her suitcase rolls down the conveyer belt and she's about to reach for it when someone else beats her to it. For a second she's taken aback and prepared to protest but then the man turns around and she nearly faints.

It's like seeing a ghost in the flesh—the man in all her dreams and wandering thoughts come to life.

"Hey. Carina told me you'd be flying back today." Chuck smiles nervously (she thinks) and extends his hand, offering to take her carry-on as well.

"Of course she did," she says. It would not be Carina if she didn't. "And thank you."

They have a brief, awkward argument about who should carry what and in the end settle with a piece each.

"I hope you don't mind. I figured it would be nice to see a familiar face."

Sarah smiles. "No, of course not." She's grateful he doesn't mention anything about a sense of duty. She's reminded of that enough when she sees that he still wears his wedding band.

"So how was your trip?" He looks earnestly at her and the question is innocent enough, but she can sense the words unspoken. The dark circles hovering under his eyes and the gaunt smile he pulls for her are enough.

"It was good," she forces herself to say. She wants to tell him that she missed him but he would never believe her. She could have called; she could have sent a word or two to let him know she was okay. Her words would only fall flat at this point.

She wants to tell him about Bryce and Beckman and Carina but somehow she can't find the words. She can't tell the stories without revealing her own betrayal; no matter how she justifies it, she left him.

So there is only silence between them. Silence and a chasm as wide as the Grand Canyon.

He nods his head. She's grateful he doesn't press her for more information. "I'm glad," is his only response, and she's apt to believe him.

He asks her where he should drop her off and Sarah's taken aback by his frankness. His expression betrays nothing, but there's clearly an air of resignation about him. He knows she's not going home with him.

* * *

He drops her off at the hotel and ignores all her protests that she's perfectly capable of carrying up her own bags. It's a short argument, if it can even be called one. He's polite to a fault and the embarrassment of arguing with her husband about whose responsibility the bags (her bags) are is only outpaced by the embarrassment of checking into a hotel alone with said husband beside her.

She keeps quiet to maintain the peace; she doesn't want to draw any more attention to what it must look like. She is checking in alone with a man who is clearly more than just a friend; never mind that he's wearing a wedding band and she is not.

They ride the elevator in silence which puts Sarah on edge. She steals glances at him and though he meets her gaze every time with a smile, his thoughts remain unspoken. She has the sense that Chuck is a talker because clearly she's not and someone in the relationship must have been for it to work. Now there is nothing and she's floundering. Every subject is a land-mine; she can't ask him what he's been up to without inviting him to ask after her again—which she can't answer, not now anyway. She doesn't want to bring up his family (too personal), lonely evenings in Italy (clearly not the most appropriate audience) and quite frankly she's tired of talking about coffee.

They enter her hotel room and Chuck wordlessly leaves her luggage against the wall. He does a quick survey of the accommodations without critique and here Sarah's prepared a list of excuses to be alone. It's not that she wants to drive him away; it's just easier on her own. It really is. When she is with him, she is filled with expectations for how things should be—how she should be.

It's hard, it's too hard; she keeps wanting to try but being with him makes her realize how broken they both are.

He spares her the difficulty but isn't that always the case?

"I'd better go and let you settle in," he says. He smiles and it breaks her a little more to know that she's never seen him smile the way he has in his old photographs. "It's been a long trip."

An emotion overtakes her. She doesn't know herself well enough to understand it, but her heart doesn't skip a beat and make her feel weightless out of fear or nervousness. It's more than that. Sarah suddenly wants to tell him that it's not true. That she's used to it. She wants to invite him to stay (for a little while at least) but by then she's caught herself and the emotion passes.

"Thank you," she says and hopes he understands. _Thank you for everything. _

For all the things she can't even express in words. He is a gift she doesn't deserve.

He takes a step towards her and leans in close enough to make Sarah feel like he might want to kiss her. Which is not out of the realm of possibility, memory serves that they _have_ kissed before.

She trusts him, but she has to keep him at arm's length. For both their sakes.

She doesn't know how to describe it. A feeling overtakes her when she is with him; almost beyond her control she finds herself gravitating towards his every word and gesture. He settles her, he manages to get past her defenses which no stranger should and it unnerves her how easily she trusts him.

She swallows hard, telling herself she would not push him away even though they must both know it's a bad idea.

But he doesn't kiss her. Not even close. When he gazes down at her, he looks perplexed. Momentarily dazed. There is a flicker of recognition and then nothing at all.

"Welcome back," he says. He extends his hand and she takes it, laughing quietly. He has an awkward way about him that disarms her. She thinks she's prepared to meet any sort of man except him. He is nothing she's known before.

* * *

It's not love. She doesn't think she knows what love is about. She's never known an emotion that could compel her give up all the things important to her and become someone else entirely. But in his absence, the emotion she feels is not _not_ love.

It was her idea to invite him out to dinner that first night back. A moment of weakness, surely, when she phones him less than an hour after he's left her hotel room. He agrees before she's able to change her mind and before she knows it, she's fussing over her hair in the mirror.

How quickly her priorities change. All flight her only worry was how to break the news and now it's only what to wear and what he'll think of it. She chooses something new from the suitcase of clothes that are not her own; something she bought impromptu with Carina, but the material doesn't feel right. She's unsettled by the reflection in the mirror, as if it's not really her.

The problem is, she's treating this like a first date when this is someone who's known her for five years, someone who knows her likes and dislikes implicitly. She's already allowed him to pick the venue and that's one mistake too many.

So she finds a shirt that looks like it's gone through a wash or twenty and takes down her hair, letting it hang loose against the back of her neck. She mutes her make-up, takes off the gaudy earrings and tries again in front of the mirror.

She practices a smile or two, wondering if how she sees her reflection is the same way Chuck sees her. The appearance of a woman untouched by the scars owed to her for her years of experience. A woman without secrets; a woman capable of being caught off guard.

Or does he see the fractures beneath the surface? The tight set of her jaw that pulls her smile together, the tense coils of muscle that mold her stiff posture. Does he see beyond the walls to the constant gravitas that anchors her to the bottom—does he see a woman incapable of letting go?

She worries where Chuck will take her. She doesn't want to pretend; inevitably when two individuals of the opposite sex are alone together preconceived notions are formed. This is not a date, this is a meeting; or so she will continue telling herself.

He takes her to an Italian restaurant that she gets the sense they've been to before. It's dim but not dinner by candlelight and busy enough to offset the silence but not so much that their lack of communication goes unawares. This is a meeting of two people once, and still (she thinks when she catches the way he looks at her across the table) in love. Whatever expression Sarah thinks she sees, it's just as easily a trick of light. She blinks once and it's gone.

He lets her ponder the menu even though he probably knows exactly what she'd order and doesn't try to interject. She's grateful for that. He does order wine for them and it's probably her favorite but she doesn't say anything. It's a damn good red though.

And suddenly there are no menus to hide behind. They're sitting across from one another and she's not sure where to place her hands. Will he reach for them if she leaves them where they are? Will she pull away and offend him? She's painfully aware of the expansive tablecloth between them, the salt and pepper shakers staking his and hers.

This is worse than an interrogation; at least then she'd have a reason not to speak.

The nerves set in. She blames it on the coffee she had at the hotel but she knows it's more than that. She's always unnerved by Chuck; afraid he'll see her for who she really is, afraid he'll realize she's not the person he's in love with—because once he realizes the truth (and he will) there will be no one left.

He tells her how lovely she looks and she's apt to accept the compliment. She's been trained to coax such words, but he says it without other designs. There is tenderness in the way he regards her such that she feels warmed by his gaze.

She says something along the same lines but she's a poor mimic. She can't bring forth the same emotions without feeling crippled by the weight of such a confession. She can't express in words the security she feels when he looks at her with those eyes and fills the void left gaping in the recesses of her mind.

He asks vague questions for which she gives scant answers. They're just skittering across thin ice and she's not sure he'll break before she does. She is tired; she's been running but he's never been far from her thoughts.

"I thought of Bryce when I was in D.C.." It's the first piece of truth she's divulged and she's not sure why, with so many things she could have said, that she would bring up an ex-boyfriend. She hasn't even given him much thought these last few weeks.

Chuck nods. His brows furrow ever so slightly, a small knot at his forehead. She studies him hoping to decipher his every quirk and tic, if only to level the playing field, but it's hopeless. He's already caught on to her staring and suddenly she's caught off guard again.

"I'm sorry." She shakes her head. If she stopped trying to analyze his every action she'd realize how insensitive she was being.

"For what?" The knot at his brows eases slightly.

"I shouldn't bring up Bryce. You're my husband and he was an ex-boyfriend."

Chuck smiles but it never reaches his eyes. "Sarah, you don't have to worry about me. You can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

Sarah nods and tries to smile but he's so infuriatingly kind to her. Can't he be angry? Can't he raise his voice and yell at her? Snap some sense into her?

But of course he can't.

It's just another reminder of how they came to be— she had been so full of herself when she told him she had just been too good at her job.

"I was in Italy." She doesn't pause as long to check his reaction. "You probably know that though if Carina messaged you." God knows what else Carina's told him. "We were in Rome and she had this hotel near the old amphitheater." The pieces come easier now; she tells him how the lines felt much longer, the people more impatient, and the espresso much stronger than she remembered.

She tries to retell a disagreement Carina had with a dry cleaner over a botched dress and he laughs at her poor attempt at humor, completely riveted by every word she says. And she thinks, as she notices the tremor in her hands steady and the tension in her shoulders ebb, that she likes this man. Very much.

* * *

Dinner ends and they head slowly towards the parkade some blocks from the restaurant. They walk down the dark street together; it's not the nicest part of town but she feels safe when she's with him. He keeps a respectful distance from her; a few times their shoulders brush and he apologizes by taking a subtle step back. She wants to tell him he doesn't have to do that, but can't she see how she's hurt him?

He doesn't blame her but that doesn't mean he's not entitled to some wariness. Hers is not the only heart to protect.

"Enough about me, I want to hear something about you," she says. The words leave her mouth before she realizes what she's asking.

He hesitates but obliges by telling her about Carmichael Industries and independent work, about Morgan and Alex and their new apartment and his sister and her family out east.

He says it all very casually but she has senses an undercurrent of tension. There are pauses between his sentences too long to be off the tongue. He's saying it all for her benefit and it worries her. He spends a great deal of time talking about everyone but himself.

She doesn't push for a clear answer though. A part of her is afraid of the truth. She's left him hanging and it would be better if she just left him for good or promised to stay.

Of course she can't do either.

She keeps thinking she will regain some semblance of normal life, of her old life, if she has more time. Like maybe all the pieces of the puzzle will fall into place if she drops them enough times. She doesn't want to lose herself, she doesn't want to lose what little she knows, but time is running out. It's not love, but there is something that prevents her from leaving all of this (and him) behind.

She will lose herself to him or she will lose herself altogether. It's only a matter of when.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Their light banter suddenly ends and Chuck senses that they're going to have the _talk_ now. It was inevitable, though he kept hoping it would never come up. He could make her happy; she just needs to give him a chance.

For half a second Chuck allows himself to believe she's returned for him but he's blurring the lines between the woman with him and his wife. They are so similar it's painful; the sight of her in all her beauty and indifference is nearly enough to break him. Those walls he had painstakingly broken down are laid up again and once in a while he's rewarded with a glimpse of a smile or a hint of warmth. He tells himself it's enough but that's hardly it.

They are so similar it's fit to kill him. And they are different enough to keep him in line. He knows to keep his distance. He knows not to push her.

And so he allows himself only half a second for pipe dreams because here is the truth of it.

The reason she's back in L.A.; the reason she's asked him out for dinner—has nothing to do with him.

All evening she's been tense, or maybe that's the indifference talking. Her body language is the only part speaking; Chuck tries but sometimes it feels like pulling teeth. She opens up to him in abrupt spurts; she allows him in for only a second and then her walls are drawn up again. There are moments when she forgets herself, when she takes enough time to tell a whole story, and he laps up her every word, drunk on a concoction of hope and hopelessness. Because just as quickly as she lets her guard down, she will catch herself. She will blink and look at him, almost startled, and all the ground they've gained will recede into the ocean that divides them.

Eventually for all his nervous rambling (he couldn't hold it in forever) she does manage a smile or two. In fact, he thought by the time dinner had ended that they were getting along quite pleasantly.

And now this. Now she's tense again and taking wary side-glances at him.

"So how long will you be back for?" He was going to wait but he would much rather just have it all end. Quite frankly he doesn't think he can take any more of the not-knowing.

"I don't know," she says. A perfect Sarah answer if he knows one.

Chuck doesn't let on how much hope her non-committal answer gives him. If she had come asking for a divorce, the answer would be much more decisive.

_A day,_ to sign the papers. _A week,_ to separate their belongings and move out.

It's hard to believe when everything you've worked for can be dismantled in something so insignificant as a few sheets of paper.

"The thing is, I spoke to a few people when I was in D.C."

"Oh." He tries to hide his disappointment; it isn't anything he didn't already know but hearing her say the words still stung.

She looks at him, her expression wary. "I was offered a job."

Chuck stops walking. There he goes again, pinning all his misguided hopes and dreams on a woman who hardly knows him. It's not like he hasn't been expecting something like this but he still has to carefully arrange his expression. She's studying him and he can't let her catch on. She doesn't owe him anything.

"Okay." It surprises him how calm he sounds. "Where?"

Sarah stops in front of him. "They said anywhere I wanted."

His first thought is she'll be somewhere halfway across the world by the end of the week. He tries to console himself but all he can think of are pithy remarks like how they might bump into each other again someday and how this won't be the end even though it feels just like it.

But none of that is for the here and now.

"And you've decided?" Chuck stares straight ahead; he knows if he meets her gaze he will see the truth in them.

She must know if she's come back to tell him.

"Yeah." Sarah casts her gaze downwards at the sidewalk. Somehow she can't seem to meet his gaze either. "I thought Prague might be nice this time of year."

His first reaction is of a memory better left forgotten. Sarah gives no indication of its significance but he can't help remembering a time when she'd have thrown it all away for him.

"It would be nice," he agrees. He tries to say more but he feels like it would all be a lie.

"But in the end—" She looks up at him with an expression little less than expectant. "I didn't want to be anywhere else but here."

_Here? _

He'd ask her to repeat himself if he didn't feel so winded.

He's so stunned he can barely process what she means but one thing is clear. _Here _means staying with him.

"Chuck?" She looks at him, still waiting for him to say something. Anything.

"Please don't jump to conclusions." Already he can see the panic in her eyes. Sarah was never very good at talking about her feelings; he can't imagine that that has changed.

Chuck swallows slowly. He fears he already has. He has to rein himself in before he starts imagining the house with the red door and the white picket fence again.

"When they interviewed me, I realized that I—we—have left things unresolved. I wasn't being fair to you."

Chuck swallows slowly. "By resolve, do you mean—" He can't say it. He doesn't want to be the one to give her the idea. But if this was agency-speech, he knows exactly what 'resolve' implies.

"I don't know, Chuck. I—" She looks at him sadly. "I'm sorry I can't give you back the life you had. And I don't really think I can give you back the relationship you had either. I can't replace any of that."

"It's okay."

He understands. It's the same thing he's told himself a hundred times over.

Only now he's telling himself something different and it's all he can tell himself, over and over again. He can't have what he once had, but he can have something different—with her.

"Is it?" She wants to believe him, he can tell that much from the way she asks. She is just as hopeful as he is. "I don't think you understand what is involved, Chuck. I'm not saying that I'll move back in with you or—" She stops herself because there are too many possibilities, a whirlwind of fabrications and fantasies. A lifetime of his and hers, or maybe just hers.

Sarah's gaze softens as does her voice. She starts afresh. "All I know is I can't leave here without things being the way they are. So here I am." Sarah's expression softens. "Will you help me?"

Her query stuns him. Of course he would, he would do anything for her. Doesn't she realize that by now?

Her eyes hold a warning. She doesn't think he understands but he does. Very well.

Will he help her, even if it means she may break his heart? Even if it means that someday she may leave him forever?

"Of course I'll help you."

Sarah smiles. It's not like the radiant smiles he's used to, but he can tell.

She's been heart-warmed.

He's so happy he wants to bear-hug her; pick her up off the ground and swing her right round. He wants to pull her close and kiss her as if their lives depended on it. But he can't—normally the realization would deflate him somewhat but he continues to smile so wide it hurts. He's so deliriously happy he can't think properly. Nothing makes sense and nothing has to.

_But wait!_

"So what did you say to them, aside from turning down their offer?" It's an innocent question and it will buy him a little more time. Trust him to ignore the real question left lingering and unanswered, looming larger than life in the background.

Where do they go from here?

"Well, I told them I wanted to be here and they've offered me a desk-job. Nothing too intensive, but something to help me with the transition." She looks slightly apologetic for what she's arranged for herself. "I couldn't say goodbye to it all at once. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He takes her hand in his and realizes she's trembling. Chuck's forgotten how remarkably vulnerable she is underneath it all. She looks at him and he realizes for the first time that it's not indifference he's gotten so used to seeing; no, he's been terribly mistaken.

She's afraid. She trusts him enough to try, enough to let him close, but he still has a lot to prove.

"If anyone has to be sorry it's me." Happy as she's made him, he has to be truthful. There have already been too many lies between them. He only hopes she will understand.

"What do you mean?" He hears the change in her voice; the slight coolness imperceptible to anyone else.

How easy it would be for him to say nothing of it. He can pretend otherwise and make the moment last a little longer but she deserves more than that. He owes her that and more.

"Sarah, there's something I need to tell you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

She can't be angry with him.

She made decisions without his consideration and he was free to make similar decisions without hers. She had a month and a half to phone/text/email/anything but she didn't. So no, she's not allowed to be angry with Chuck.

She _is_ angry but that's different.

Sarah wills herself to unclench her fists and sit back. The woman was giving her a questioning look.

Here she is attending her first of many mandated therapy sessions while Chuck is heaven-knows where. It bothers her far more than she's willing to admit, that at this moment he is probably being briefed for a mission of which she is to have no part in.

_You can't be angry with Chuck. _It wouldn't be fair. Not when he let her go expecting nothing from her in return.

Her name was Dr. (Please-Call-Me-Moira) Monroy. _I don't want there to be any unnecessary barriers between us. Please don't think of me as strictly your therapist._ She speaks as if they could be friends, as if addressing her by first name only would somehow allow Sarah to forget who she was speaking to.

"Are you comfortable?" the woman asks, seated across from Sarah. "Do you want to take off your jacket?" She seems like a nice person but they must all seem that way. It's probably part of their training.

"I'm fine." Sarah likes it this way. She likes to think she has the option of leaving at a second's notice. It's an exit strategy without an exit.

"You might as well get comfortable. You're going to be spending some time here."

_At last. _Sarah almost cracks a smile; it didn't take long for Dr. Monroy to lose the niceties though she is perfectly correct. She hazards a glance down at her watch. Five minutes down, another eighty-five to go.

"I know this visit was mandated by your superiors but please try to relax. Nothing you say here will leave the confines of this office."

_Except it will go to your superiors who are my superiors. _

"Thank you, I will keep that in mind," Sarah says. Dr. Monroy scribbles something on her notepad and Sarah wonders if she's made her intentions too clear.

"So, is there anything you'd like to discuss?"

Sarah stares straight ahead. She has trouble talking to Chuck much less a complete stranger. The thought gives her pause. Was that progress if she didn't consider her husband a stranger?

Dr. Monroy smiles as she holds her pen aloft. "If you prefer, I can start."

Sarah says nothing. She would rather not reveal anything if she didn't have to. Perhaps she should try to be more forthcoming; maybe they will see that as _normal_. Or as normal as someone in her circumstance can be.

"Why don't we start with something easy?" Here the woman pauses. "Your name?"

Sarah stares at the back of the woman's notepad. "Sarah Walker." She doesn't realize it's a trap until it's too late. Of course it was; it was too easy to be anything but.

Dr. Monroy scribbles at a furious pace. If a name could give her so much fodder, Sarah couldn't imagine what will happen when she finally has to start talking.

"I've answered incorrectly," Sarah says, trying quickly to form a more well-rounded answer.

"There are no incorrect answers, Sarah, though I think it's interesting that you would think so."

Sarah feels flush with frustration. _Bartowski_. She was supposed to answer that her name was Sarah _Bartowski _because she was well-adjusted and perfectly capable of working with her husband in the field.

"How did you get here today? Did you have any trouble finding the place?"

"No, I drove myself." Sarah bites her tongue. Was this another mistake? Dr. Monroy watches her intently but she refuses to back step and give away any uncertainty on her part.

Chuck had offered, he was quite insistent actually, but she didn't want to bother him. Therapy was an unpleasant inconvenience but hardly reason to need someone else to escort you.

Unless he was offering as an excuse to see her. The thought gives her pause. Maybe she shouldn't be so stubborn.

"You're staying at the hotel." It wasn't a question. Her life was laid bare between them in pages and photographs. That this woman should know more about her than Sarah knew about herself was about as _mildly_ irritating as not remembering the past five years of her own life.

"Yeah, I am." She had gone to Chuck's apartment and taken some of her belongings back to the hotel. It had been his idea. _It's all yours anyway, _he'd said and somehow she'd convinced herself it was a good idea. He didn't argue or bargain or try to persuade, but every shirt she packed, every sweater she took off the rack was another leaden weight on her shoulders.

She had asked for his help, but she was asking for him to dismantle his life to help rebuild hers. She was sure she was going to go to hell for this.

"Do you see him?"

Sarah flinches. "I thought when I was coming in for an assessment that I was going to be asked questions related to my skills in the field."

"Do you see him?" she repeats. When Sarah still refuses to answer, she scribbles something onto her notepad. Likely it was about her lack of cooperation or attempt at diversion.

"I see him from time to time." It wasn't the entire truth but Sarah's sure the real answer would just be another can of worms. It's a compromise that's sure to please neither; she tries to get to know Chuck and downplay all the expectations that's sure to be there, and all the while carry on with her life the only way she knows how to live it. She'd like to see someone else do better.

"It must be hard to find yourself married to someone you hardly know."

_It's a trap._

Sarah puts on a tight-lipped smile. "I think a lot of marriages are no different. Does anyone really know who they're marrying?"

Dr. Monroy frowns. _Probably not the right answer._

Sarah tightens her grip on the armrest. She was getting sick of all these personal questions. "Perhaps there's been some misunderstanding. I agreed to these sessions so that I could be approved for active duty."

Dr. Monroy looks down at her notes. "That's not what it says here." She points her finger to a spot on a page only visible to her. "You want to be cleared to work with your estranged husband."

Sarah tenses. "We're not estranged," she says. A little too sharply.

The woman gives her a reproachful look.

"We're not estranged," she repeats, softer.

Dr. Monroy points to her notepad. "But you live in separate residences, you've just said that you hardly know him and you only see him from time to time."

Sarah barely has the will to hold her tongue. There's something to be said for an agency that will clear her for just about any mission except the one that really matters. Suddenly when it involves their most valuable agent she's not mentally fit, unprepared and too overwhelmed to be involved.

She's angry and she doesn't think she's hiding it very well. "I'm doing everything that's asked of me," she says in her best level tone. "I just hope you are clear what I'm asking in return."

The woman smiles at her. "Of course, Sarah, you've been through a lot, there's no denying that. But I hope you understand why we need to take these precautions."

It finally occurs to her then that this has nothing to do with her. Not really. While Sarah is fully aware that there are unresolved issues between them; Chuck is important and she is a danger to him.

She sees now what this must look like from the outside. Why would a woman make plans to leave for good suddenly return and want to reconcile with a man she barely knows? She can't even explain it to herself; she can't pretend to be any more in love or any happier than she is.

She need not be reminded of the spectacular failure she made of the agency only a few short months ago. She's since been pardoned of all offenses but that doesn't mean they've forgotten. While she is exceedingly competent, she is nevertheless a weapon and while her loyalties are satisfied she can always fall into the wrong hands.

It makes her wonder if they ever intended to let her back into the field or if all this had been an elaborate ruse to play her into their hands.

"I would never harm Chuck." She tries hard not to let her voice waver so, but she is terrified of the things she's capable of. She's sure she's made the same vow before and to what effect?

Dr. Monroy nods. "I'm glad to hear it. You understand why we need to take these precautions then?"

To them, she's just an agent off-kilter; suspect until proven innocent.

Sarah assents. Slowly she shrugs off her jacket and lays it on the cushion next to her. She has to prove them wrong. She has to prove herself wrong. And to do that, she might as well get comfortable. It's not likely she'll be leaving any time soon.

Dr. Monroy smiles approvingly. "Good. Let's get started then."

* * *

At last, she was free and that alone was reason enough to smile. She heads to the parking lot, eager to leave this place behind her. There's a quickness in her step; she feels compelled to move even though there's nowhere for her to go. She tries to think of some banal errands she needs to run but her life is succinct. She's not quite without purpose as she was during her hiatus but she has to work just as hard to fill the space in her days.

For a brief moment she almost wishes therapy had taken the entire day.

As she walks towards her car, she realizes that Chuck is waiting for her. She doesn't think it's him at first but her heart knows better. When he waves at her, she feels an emotion so briefly overwhelming she's weak in the wake of it.

He stares down at his feet as if embarrassed to be found near her car. He doesn't say anything until she's closer and even then it's a rush of apologies.

"I know what this looks like. I know you said you wanted to go alone but I thought you'd be done by now and I was just driving by. I swear I wasn't following you or keeping tabs or anything like that."

Sarah smiles and for a brief few seconds she feels wicked enough not to reassure him. There's something terribly endearing about him when he's in a panic.

"It's alright," she finally says before he starts to spiral. "I know you weren't…following me." Even saying the words sounds ridiculous, especially since he's always given her her space.

"Good." He smiles in relief. "I just…" He stops, searching for the right words. "I mean…" She keeps her eyes on him, waiting, which only seems to make his speech pattern worse. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he finally blurts, staring at the ground again.

She doesn't imagine that she was much different before, so of course Chuck would be concerned. "Why wouldn't I be? I was only talking about my personal life with a stranger." She has to smile so he doesn't take it the wrong way. She's angry but not at him. She could never.

"Sarah." Even the way he says her name is apologetic.

Sarah turns away. She can't face the way he looks at her sometimes. "Stop." She takes a deep breath. "We've been through this before. You promised."

They both made promises. Some things are better left unspoken.

Chuck seems to catch himself. "Right. Well, I came because I wanted to see if I could take you out for a drink."

_A drink?_ She'd love a drink but it's only eleven in the morning.

"A drink of coffee," he says in clarification. "Unless you did want a drink because I would not judge either way." Sarah doesn't say anything but they are already slowly walking towards his car. Without speaking they're somehow aware of each other's physical reactions. "In fact it would be perfectly understandable if you wanted a drink."

He leaves the conversation open for her to respond but she just nods. "A drink would be great. Either way." And leaves it up to him to choose.

* * *

He ends up taking her to a café a short drive away. Is he cognizant of the fact she could walk back to where her car is parked if things don't go well? Is that why he's chosen somewhere close? She shuts the thought away because she thinks they've progressed beyond that. He isn't a stranger to her; she's just not quite sure what he is.

They order their usual fare and Sarah likes that about him. Maybe he does it for her benefit but it's reassuring in a world filled with so much uncertainty that she at least knows how he likes his coffee.

He raises his take-away cup. "We should celebrate."

The notion takes her aback and she doesn't try to hide it. "What are we celebrating?" She frowns but Chuck is far from discouraged.

"You." He smiles at her and touches his cup against hers with all the effect minus the usual celebratory _clink_. "I know how difficult this must all be for you and today was a big step."

She takes a deep breath. "Well I think it's a bit early for celebration. It was only one session." She realizes she's not sure what event will mark her progress and whether it's the same for Chuck. She tries not to think of the magnitude of his expectations because she knows she will always fall short. Even if he says he has none for her, they were married once (_still,_ she reminds herself). There has to be expectations.

"I know. And I'm not trying to put any pressure on you. I'm sorry if I did." Frowning he lowers his cup and stares down at the table. It happens so easily, this fall from the fine balance of what is between them and what is between their past lives.

Quite without meaning to she realizes she's said the wrong thing. Through all this he's never tried to force her to be anyone but herself. He sees the distinction between who she is and who she was. If there are expectations, it's her own fault for making them grander than they are.

"I'm sorry," she says. She reaches across the table and takes his hand, which he gives not unwillingly to her. The surprise on his face though; Sarah forgets sometimes that this is just as hard for him as it is for her. "I don't like change so it just doesn't feel like something to celebrate. But you're right. Today was a big step."

He warms to her again, his smile though faint, is encouraging. "I should have asked earlier but how was it?"

Sarah withdraws. She doesn't even realize she's done so until she's leaning against the back of her chair, both hands now in her lap. If Chuck's noticed he doesn't let on. Sometimes she thinks he's not cut out for the life of a spy but then, just when she needs to, she realizes she can't read him at all.

"It was fine." Like ripples in still water, her non-answer causes a discord between them. They drink their coffees in silence. Chuck doesn't pry for more and she's not apt to elaborate but she has to.

She has to stop building these walls. She could lose herself (it's a probability more than a possibility) but if she doesn't stop pushing him away, she will lose him. And that's a fact. Chuck is a man, not a Saint, and he's not going to wait forever.

Even if it's not love, she knows that there is something. Something told her to come back even when she was hell-bent on staying away. If there's any chance, any chance at all, for _that_ to become something more than just a sixth sense, she has to stop destroying what little there is left between them.

She doesn't need a therapist to tell her that much.

"It's always unpleasant when someone happens to know more about you than you do about them. When they ask you questions that you don't even ask yourself." Her gaze switches back and forth between her completely drained take-away cup and his hands. His right hand shields over the left and she hides her hands in her lap; they are both trying to protect the other in their own way. "But you know, I think it's for the best. I'm glad that they're giving me the time."

She is wary to catch his gaze. A part of her wants him to be unguarded with her but the other is afraid of what she'll discover. She doesn't really know the true depths of his emotions; love, despair, guilt, joy. She has no idea.

"Really?" His voice takes on an incredulous tone but when she looks into his eyes, they are not accusatory. They are, she thinks, hopeful; like she's given him something and he can't quite believe it.

She doesn't quite want to admit it herself. And it doesn't mean she's not angry about the probation or the therapy because she still is, even if it's for her own good.

"Yeah. I do." He smiles at that, and she thinks, for the first time, she's seen that smile somewhere in a photograph before.

* * *

Hours pass. They loiter far beyond what is appropriate and she honestly couldn't say what they had to talk about. A whole bunch of nothing, really. But everything felt like something important at the time; every subject thought-provoking and perhaps a bit nostalgic.

They dance around the past but by now they've gotten rather good at the steps. She opens up a bit more about Italy, about Carina, and he opens up a bit more about what he really does in his spare time (no details, of course).

Finally they make plans to leave. She suggests, as they walk out, that they should walk back to her car rather than driving his.

"I'll drive you back," she says. It's not a very subtle plan but he goes along with it. Later in the evening she will ask herself why she couldn't have just said goodbye to him but it's far too complex for her introspection.

They walk side by side, close enough to touch but never breaking their unspoken truce. He is so near she can feel the shadow of his arm over hers but just far enough for her to remember who she is to him.

"Chuck." She's gotten more familiar with saying his name and it's lost some of it's awkwardness. He no longer looks so alarmed to hear her say it. "Tell me again how we met."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: **

She takes him off guard with her request. All at once they are back at the beach again and he's sitting beside her, reliving the past for the both of them. He breaks his heart a second time, knowing he failed her once and fearing he's failed her again.

_"Tell me again how we met,"_ she'd said.

She takes his breath away and he's momentarily unable to both think and walk at the same time.

"Chuck?" This time there is concern in her voice. She stops and waits for him to respond but he has nothing to offer.

He swallows slowly. There is something achingly familiar about the way she says his name; a warmth long absent. He looks into her eyes cautiously, aware that he falls at his own peril but there is a discernible thaw and the colors run clear and blue.

"It was a just a thought," she says. She shrugs a bit too purposefully to be casual. "Don't worry about it."

"No. It's not that." They start walking again but he's still thinking of a way to formulate an answer for her. It's just, how does he put to words what that moment meant to him?

She'll never understand how one smile could have changed his life forever.

She'll ask him how he knew that she was the one and words will fail him when he needs them most.

"I could tell you again," he finally says. "But it's more than just a series of events." Like the stories he's told before; a memory is just words unless she was there. "I'm sorry, it's hard to explain."

"No." She doesn't let him apologize any further. "I understand." They walk together in silence and he tries to think of something else to tell her. Something light-heartened enough to make her laugh would be more like it but he doesn't feel much up to the task today.

Her mind is elsewhere anyway. He asks her whether she has plans for the afternoon but she doesn't respond. He lets the question hang in the air, unsure whether she's simply deep in thought or whether this conversation has come to its conclusion.

Then, all at once, she stops him in his step. Her grip on his wrist is so hesitant he can only just feel the warmth of her touch. Even that, slight as it is, sends tremors through his body. He goes against instinct to maintain a façade of calm.

"This is what I remember about our first meeting." Her next words come without warning. "I fell into your arms and you caught me." She smiles but it wavers at the memory. Their eyes meet, briefly, before she looks away. "You were so relieved; I could feel it in the way you held me. It was real. The love you had for me was real." She doesn't stop to look at him, to meet his gaze, and realize that it still is.

His love for her remains.

She lets go of his arm and begins to walk, lost in thought. They continue again down the sidewalk but it's clear that she's not finished.

"I worry about you." Hearing her say the words is strange to say the least. It's as if she's stolen his thoughts.

"Hey, isn't that my job?" He cuts a grin but she's not smiling; in fact her brows are furrowed deep in thought.

"I know I shouldn't, I know you're probably very good at your job."

He's not sure if she's making a joke; she doesn't seem to be or has she conveniently forgotten about their last mission together?

"It makes me very uncomfortable to know that you're out there, risking your life, and there's nothing I can do about it."

She stops walking and faces him and he just barely misses colliding into her. He holds out his hands to steady himself and a gasp, barely audible, escapes her when he grabs onto her arms. He is so close to her that he can feel the rapid thrum of her pulse; there is no bomb but there might as well be. He feels time closing in on them and the sudden honesty that lies stark in her eyes.

She's frightened.

"Please let me come with you." It is all but a plea.

"I can't."

_Can't? Or won't?_ The truth is he is just as frightened. She's risked her life enough times for him and he still hasn't gotten over the aftermath of what was supposed to be their last mission together.

It is cowardly for him to use rules and procedure to hold her at bay but it won't be forever. They won't let him leave just yet but very soon. He only needs enough time to help them rebuild an Intersect and for the knowledge in his head to become obsolete.

And maybe by then they will have come to a resolution and they can make a decision together for what comes next.

But that isn't what Sarah is asking right now.

"At least let me look over the files before you go. I have been approved for desk work, you know." She is so earnest; he's not sure how he can disappoint her.

"I don't know." And that is the truth. Of course he's thrilled, but this is all wrong.

"Put in a word with Barnes. I don't have to _be _on your team. I can be a consultant. I can just sit in the car." He gives her a look. "Or in an office, or in my hotel room," she amends. Clearly she's put a lot of thought into this. "Just please don't leave me in the dark."

He doesn't believe she'd stay put for a second but he knows she won't take _no_ for an answer. Not when she's already fulfilled her half of a bargain they never agreed upon.

"But Sarah—"

She gives him a look and the rest of his protest dies quietly in his throat. He's forgotten what she can be like. She's asked nicely and he shouldn't wait to see what can happen when she doesn't.

* * *

They say _no_ at first—Barnes and Langley. They don't want a repeat of the blown out office space in the middle of their LA branch. They try to elaborate but he doesn't want to know the details of her psych evaluation; it's enough that they deemed her to be high-functioning—just not with him. Him and her; they're a dangerous combination. They're afraid she'll come _unhinged. _

Their fears are unfounded but Chuck doesn't put up too much of an argument. He has a reason to keep her safe and he will use it for as long as he can. Which, Sarah being Sarah, is not long at all.

He tells her of their decision on a Monday and by Wednesday, Barnes phones him personally to tell there's been an appeal. By Friday he's taking her down to Castle to show her around.

"Don't forget your promise," he reminds as they descend down to the heart of the building. Their roles have reversed and now he finally understands her worry.

She rolls her eyes. "I stay in the office, I know." They don't want her on active duty and he's not going to argue with the powers that be. She's on her own with that one.

More than half the building is dedicated now to the rebuilding of the Intersect or at least until its original facilities can be properly secured and restored. It doesn't leave much room for operations so the tour is brief. She takes it all in, orientates herself quickly, but there is no flicker of recollection.

The disappointment is fleeting; he longer hangs in the hope that she will remember. And it shouldn't matter, should it? Here she is, memory or no memory.

He shows her the largest room with the mainframe last. "We do most of our work here but if you like I could have an office made for you."

"No, it's fine." A faint smile crosses her lips. He'd give anything to know what she was thinking. "I like it here."

He laughs. "You say that now but wait until you've been stuck here for a day or two. Us nerds can make for pretty dull company."

She raises her chin in silent defiance. "I'm sure I could suffer through it," she says, her voice going soft. There is something about the way she looks at him; sometimes he forgets that any of this ever happened. For a brief moment there is no pain, no sadness. There is only him and her. Them.

Behind him the doors slide open. "Hey Chuck, have you seen—" Sarah grabs his arm instinctively causing him to jump. "Oh! I'm sorry; I didn't realize you had someone in here."

Chuck turns while gently trying to loosen Sarah's talon-like grip. "Hey, Greta!" Sarah mutters something next to him but all he hears is a resonating grumble. "Remember how I said we were getting a new analyst?"

Greta says nothing, probably because he never did. Between the appeal, preparing for the next mission and driving Sarah to and from her appointments, the memo completely slipped his mind.

"This is Sarah. She'll be here on an interim basis." He flashes Greta an apologetic smile as he gives Sarah a gentle push forwards. "Sarah, this is Greta, my partner."

The women shake hands in a rigid, almost robotic, manner. His partner, usually so disarming with her charm, has never looked more unsettled. And Sarah's movements are so sharp they could cut him in half.

"It's nice to meet you," Greta says, flashing Chuck a look of confusion. "How long are you planning to work with us?"

"Permanently," Sarah says, clearly ignoring Chuck's introduction.

"It _may_ be permanent," Chuck adds. Hadn't they just agreed in the car that she was still on probation? "We're going to see if this works out first."

"It will work out." Clearly this was not open for discussion.

Greta wrinkles her nose, a reaction he's seen only when she's confused or displeased. He has no idea, she's a hard read in the best of times. "Do you guys know each other or something?"

"Well, I wouldn't say—" He struggles to think of the best way to describe Sarah. Would it be insulting to introduce her as a friend? "She and I...we...we are-"

Sarah steps forward and spares him from delving into nonsensical blabber. "I'm his wife." Just like that. And then she smiles a smile he hasn't seen in a long time. She has the look of a woman self-assured, a woman who says what she means.

Greta waits for Chuck to say something but he's at a loss for words. He's smiling like an idiot on the inside but one look from his partner is enough to chastise him. He should apologize later; they've always kept their private and personal lives separate but he really should have told the whole team ahead of time.

"I see," she says, after a beat. "How wonderful. Welcome to the team."

The women smile at one another again but the tension in the air only dissipates after Greta's leave. Chuck breaks the silence after a safe count to ten, in case his partner is still close by.

"I thought we agreed we wouldn't discuss our relationship at work."

Sarah smiles innocently. "Did we?" She frowns. "I don't remember that."

"It was your idea!" Chuck is sure of it. She told him she didn't want to put a label on things.

"I don't think so," she says. Her smile is infuriatingly serene. "But in any case, you're still wearing your wedding band. I'm just adding a face to the name."

Chuck is about to argue his point when he catches himself.

"You know what? You're right." Somehow losing to her doesn't quite feel like losing at all.

* * *

It is Thursday night and she comes at seven sharp; never early or late. She's punctual to a fault, though the agreed upon time for her to leave keeps slipping later and later. Not that he'll ever complain or try to keep her longer; it's just something he notices.

Thursday nights become dates that are not dates. He reminds himself of that when he prepares; he tries not to overdress, he tries not to over-clean (he's just grateful she has no idea what the place was like before) but he forgets the mantra usually by the time he opens the door.

He always feels a bit of a fool when he sees her. He doesn't quite know how to tell her how beautiful she is; how happy she makes him when she smiles.

Tonight she wears blue. Has she remembered that it's his favorite color? Not likely, but maybe she's figured that out all on her own. She doesn't seem unsettled when she catches him staring for a little too long.

"Hello, Chuck," she says and hands him something in a paper bag. She always brings wine; she's never brought Shiraz again but a few times now she's brought his favorite Chardonnay. It can't be a coincidence.

After she takes off her shoes and puts away her bag, she greets him properly with a peck on the cheek. It's hardly anything remarkable, but a part of him still reels from the way she reaches out to him. Her lips stay on him a little longer than necessary and they stand close, far closer than friends need to be. Her eyes flit upwards to meet his and there is intimacy, however brief, in the way she seeks his gaze.

She breaks away first (she always does) and he just smiles. He made a comment once before and she blushed so hard he was afraid he'd quashed any chance of it happening again.

They talk over dinner and wine. Just when he doesn't think he could love her any more, she lets her guard down. She lets him in. The alcohol helps a little but there's more to it than that. Something's changed about her. She's not afraid to be honest with him. She tells him about her nightmares, the things that worry her (him, of course), her plans for the weekend, for the rest of her life.

He's truthful with her. He tells her about his exit strategy, about the downpayment on the house, about how he'd like them to fly to Chicago to visit his sister's family. _Someday_, he always says, as a disclaimer. He doesn't expect anything from her; he always tells her that, because a part of him is still trying to take in the fact that she's come back at all. He doesn't expect anything more from her.

Sarah doesn't usually say anything but at times she will nod her head, a wistful smile on her face. _Someday,_ she repeats. Not a promise, but he's not building his hopes out of nothing either.

After dinner they clear the table together. "Don't forget, we have to review the case reports together," she warns, before he can even suggest the evening's movie. He's about to remind her who insisted on the Indiana Jones movie marathon last week but he doesn't dare. Especially not when she had to return the following night to finish said movie marathon and complete the review.

Later still, when she's rifling through his collection, he asks her what her plans are. "Your pick tonight," is her only response. Her answers have grown increasingly vague. There are no set curfews, no itineraries, and no plot points for them to follow. She's finally comfortable enough not to plan her exit before her arrival.

"How about my favorite of all time?" He's already set the DVD aside for tonight but he gives it to her to look at.

She looks at the cover and furrows her brows. "I thought your favorite of all time was _The Empire Strikes Back_." She shrugs and hands it back to him. "Alright, put it in."

_She's right._ He told her once, years ago, but he hasn't said anything since.

Sarah seems none the wiser at his revelation and Chuck doesn't want to ruin the moment. She will remember things in time, or she won't. It doesn't change anything.

Chuck joins her on the couch and takes her hand. She smiles at him and they sit, side by side, in the quiet.

Someday he will show her the torn magazine page he still keeps, wrinkled and faded, in his back pocket.

Someday he will tell her how happy she makes him just for coming home.

Someday he will tell her that he can't imagine a beginning to a story without her; she is his start and finish, his ever after.

But for now he is satisfied just have her here by his side.

.

The End.

* * *

**_A/N: _**That's it folks! I began writing this as a way to find some closure after the finale of the show. A year and many revisions later, here we are. Chuck has been a show I've missed very much but at least now I can imagine a happier ending for them somewhere down the road.

Many thanks to **mxpw** who reprised his beta-ing skills to help me see my vision through (I'm sorry I tricked you into reading more angst).

Thank you all for reading & all your feedback. You guys were wonderful.

Malamoo.


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